Bane of Existence
by Shio1
Summary: Hawke isn't the hero his dwarven storyteller claimed he was to the Seekers, he actually quite different than the puckish rogue Varric made him out to be and it is about time Hawke explained just what kind of Hawke he was back then. A Hawke who was unsteady on his feet, scared of his own two hands, and masks it all well; after all, no one said a coward couldn't be a brave Champion.
1. Prologue

Prologue

Bethany was gone and so was the sunshine, only gray clouds hovered over the boat. The ship moved to and fro, making Hawke's stomach all the worse. He looked over to Mother and Carver, Carver tried so hard not to let Beth's death affect him while he was awake; but asleep he had unintentionally curled up to Mother and laid his head on her knee, Mother's hand absentmindedly combed through his hair willing away the memory that made his younger brother whimper in his sleep.

They had lost so many and so much, starting at Ostagar. Hawke and Carver had been in the front lines, forced to watch their comrades around them die, the Grey Wardens die, their king die. All the while the traitor Loghain walked away with all his men. The two men had cut down all the darkspawn they could, before finally retreating at Hawke's behest. The death had not stopped there, but the Hawke siblings had made it back home to Lothering safely. The two Hawke men had time to grab Bethany and Mother from the clutches of the Darkspawn and little else as they left the doomed town. Their retreat had been just as painful as the one at Ostagar, screams from Lothering carrying for miles and fueling the somber thought that the screaming townspeople were buying the Hawke family more time to escape. Death continued though, the Templar had been a perceived threat, the Ogre was not and Bethany had sacrificed her life for Mother's. Hawke could have protected his sister, if he wasn't such a damn coward he could have easily put down the Ogre and saved them all. He was a coward though and was unable to do his best to protect his family, thus loosing Beth to that monster. The image of Mother cradling his little sister still taunted him, reminding him of the restraint he had used to stop himself from dropping down and shaking his sister awake, _this was no time to sleep silly_. Hawke had tried, tried to keep up his strength and continue to channel his charm. _"Maybe we should grieve later"_ and_ "At least she'll have Father to keep her company"_, but he was sure it didn't help, then again, would anything he could have said have worked?

They were lucky when the Witch of the Wilds came, Hawke using his fascination of the dragon turned mage to drown out the image of the little sister he had not seen in so long and would not ever see again. He tried to continue his charming front for Mother, while remaining wary of the witch. There had been a moment, a single instant that intrigued Hawke the most. Hawke had begun asking silly things, just for the sake of judging the Witch's character. The answers before had all been flippant and clipped, _"you are an apostate?" "yes, like your sister was."_ Answers that had caused a cringe from everyone, but all for different reasons. However, when Hawke had asked his silly question:_ "can you teach me that trick of yours?"_, the Witch seemed to hesitate and study Hawke and it had set him on edge. Her answer hinted towards a double meaning of something the Witch knew, but chose not to share._ "I'm afraid it requires more than what you have."_ The Witch had only been a temporary reprieve from the theme of death though, apparently it had been too long since the last unfortunate end of someone close.

The Templar, Wesley had the taint and it was finally taking hold. There was no cure, no Wardens to save him now, and his wife, Aveline, hesitated. He asked for mercy and death, the Witch finding it the most merciful action herself. Still Aveline wavered and Hawke worried, he worried about the rest of his family and their future in Kirkwall and Aveline and even Wesley. Hawke knew it would be wrong for him to end the Templar's life, far more than Aveline knew. Hawke looked at the knife in Wesley's hand and made his own plea.

"Aveline, he is your husband. I can't do this for him."

The soldier had given a sad nod, giving her arm and strength to Wesley as the couple sunk the blade into the Templar's heart together, Wesley fading with life as he whispered his goodbye to Aveline.

From there it was a grueling trip to Gwaren and then onto the very ship they were on now. The only question being, _who would die next_?

Hawke fidgeted coming out of his thoughts and looking over to Mother again, Mother had barely moved and barely talked. Her gaze far away and her hand still moving through Carver's hair at its own accord. He knew when the time came, Mother would jump straight back into action. She was a strong woman and did her best to keep a brave front for him, Carver, and Bethany; but there had been times after Father died that Hawke would find Mother sobbing by the fireplace and Hawke would curl up with her, a blanket, and a cup of tea, letting her cry and tell him of what troubled her. Hawke became the rock his father once was in his mother's life and took the position with as much pride and bravery he could manage, what little it was.

Hawke turned his head the other way and found Aveline, she looked as sick as he imagined he did but once again for a different reason. The redhead was leaning next to Hawke on the mast, staring down at the Templar shield in her lap and trembling. It was obviously a private moment and Hawke turned away to allow it to remain so. Aveline was strong and capable, even attractive. She reminded Hawke of Mother, in the sense he felt she too would jump back and push the mourning away until there was time later. Hawke wished he could be that strong, to fight with everything and not tarry on old regrets.

Without anything else to divide his attention, besides his own dark thoughts, Hawke found his sickness becoming more insistent. His mind buzzed wildly and his skin crawled with discomfort, making him twitch even more. A headache was slowly working its way up and his stomach was pitching more than the ship was, all of it causing him to groan and curl in on himself. His last dose had been at Ostagar, before the battle and it had started wearing off long ago. Gwaren had not had the ingredients he needed nor the substance itself. He could last till Kirkwall, but not much longer after that and so he hoped someone there would at least have the necessary components. It had been a long time since the last time he was unable to find the proper things to rid himself of the burden, back when Father was still alive. He could remember being so sick he had been confined to bed, when Father found out the reason he had been angry. It was the only time he had seen Father truly upset and without a devious smile, it hurt even more when Father begun blaming himself and Hawke had felt as guilty and taken to not talking or looking at his father. Mother had been upset too, she had actually slapped him and he had deserved it. Mother had apologized later, but Hawke knew what he was doing was wrong. Bethany had been heartbroken and refused to talk to him, feeling equally shameful. Carver had been angry that Hawke had upset everyone, but had as rubbed his mistake in his face. The perfect son wasn't so perfect and hiding secrets from his family. It had taken time before Hawke was able to accurately explain it to his family and though they understood, Hawke could tell the relationships he had with them were damaged. Father's hurt the most, as he gave more attention to Hawke instead of less, as if trying to fix a mistake that wasn't his.

Hawke let out another groan. He smiled weakly as he felt a familiar wet nose rub against his cheek and tried to comfort him. Malcom always knew how to get Hawke to smile, the mabari was clever and comforting in his many strategies to get his human to feel better. As a pup Malcom had gone by Dog, Father had been alive then and Hawke was uncreative with names. When Father passed though, Malcom himself changed. When the Hawke siblings had first found and begged to keep the pup it had been indifferent to the family, one of the Chantry Sisters explained that a mabari chooses its master and that none of the Hawkes seemed to be the chosen owner; however, after Father died the mabari begun hanging around Hawke more and more. The grieving son tried hiding away from the silly, maturing dog, hiding in all the corners of the house and eventually the cupboard just so he could be alone. Still the mabari would follow and prod till Hawke gave in and held the dog while crying into it's fur. Carver was a bit jealous that Malcolm had chosen Hawke, but Bethany had been happy the pup was more loving. Still it had been an agreement among the Hawke siblings and even Mother to name the pup Malcolm; a memory that brought another smile to Hawke's face.

"Dear, are you ok?" Mother's hand was laid on his forehead and he didn't have to look to see her worry at his slight fever.

"I'll be fine Mother, I'll just be better when we get to Kirkwall." Hawke put on his most charming smile and lifted his head up, not stopping till Mother warily nodded and went back to comforting Carver in his sleep. It was a shame Hawke could not find sleep now, as it would have provided a wonderful reprieve from his feverish state.

Eventually Hawke settled on polishing his blades, taking each low-quality dagger from its sheath, cleaning away the grime and taint, and checking for chips and dents. All the while Hawke prayed to the Maker he would find the strength to protect his family... and procure something for his Maker Forbidden headache.


	2. Affliction in the Gallows

Affliction in the Gallows

"We don't need more of your refugees overrunning our city." The guardsman eyed his group with distaste.

"Surely there is someone we can speak to." Hawke tried hard to stand firm and confident, but his skin was crawling beneath his leathers and all he wanted to do was curl up and pass out.

"You want to talk, go further in and speak with Captain Ewald then." The guardsman huffed with annoyance, motioning back and Hawke walked quickly in the direction.

"Tell me, how did you escape Lothering. Almost everyone who hadn't yet fled..." Aveline was walking beside Carver and Carver beside mother, Hawke leading the group with his frantic strides. Even in his slight daze Hawke could tell Aveline was trying to get to know the company she had been keeping, but of course Carver would have none of that.

"My brother, I don't think we would be here if not for him."

"Oh, but I've seen your skills."

"And surely you've seen his, they're far superior to the younger son's, no."

"Carver."

"Sorry, Mother." Carver strode faster, walking up to Hawke's side with a scowl on his face. Carver leaned slightly closer, just enough to be unheard by the women behind. "Mother said you are feeling bad."

"Her concern is unwarranted."

"Is it, Brother? You ran out at Ostagar and you're so frantic someone would think your lyrium-addled."

"That is the lesser of the evils, Carver."

"Maybe, but you have the stupider of the evils. If you want to destroy yourself go ahead, but when it begins affecting Mother then it become my problem."

"Forgive me for resting that burden on you then." Hawke's temper was short enough due to begin sick, Carver was hardly making it better, but that was no reason to snap at him and Hawke made note to apologize later when it would be sincere. Hawke noticed an important looking guardsman near the gates and shuffled over, resisting the urge to try to rub out the prickling of his skin. A group of men were currently arguing with the Guard Captain, both parties obviously at the end of their wits.

"We are not letting anyone in."

"That is not true, I've seen other pass through."

"Merchants, people who still have business here."

"Now wait, we have family here; our uncle, Gamlen Amell he knows we are coming." Hawke broke into the back and forth, folding his trembling arms tight across his chest.

"Gamlen? I know a Gamlen, but he is a weasel who can't rub two coppers together. I tell you what, I'll keep an eye out and if he comes by..."

"Wait, you're letting them in?!"

"That's not..."

"We are getting in one way or another, get him men." The mercenary leader went for the guardsman, Hawke moved quickly between them and pulled his daggers to block the blow. The leader turned his attention to Hawke, never getting a decent hit in as Hawke weaved in and out of range with roguish speed. Each of his strikes hit the merc head on and he brought the merc to his knees, before finishing him with a final blow. With the blood pumping through his veins, Hawke was put on edge. He wanted to jump from his own skin and run far from the static feeling clinging to him.

Hawke heard a familiar war cry from the wings of the Gallows and ran to help Carver, his grace amazing considering the fog in his head and the shakiness of his limbs. Hawke made it in time to see Carver cleave through a mercenary and wipe his eyebrow, he was glad his help was unneeded with his worsening condition.

Suddenly arms wrapped around Hawke, one holding a knife to his throat and the other pressing him against the armored body.

"Drop your weapon, boy!"

Carver glared, letting his greatsword clash to the ground.

"Carver." The knife at Hawke's neck grew closer, but he barely noticed over the buzzing feeling he despised more. Carver huffed, but nodded and pulled out a smoke bomb. As soon as the glass crashed upon the ground, Hawke acknowledged and fed into the buzz of his body. Warmth spread from his fingertips and he immediately heard a shriek from the merc behind him. The mercenary dropped the knife, instead trying to pat out the flames on his clothes. Hawke spun around and cast again, setting the mercenary entirely on fire. The smell of burning flesh filled the air as the smoke from the bomb drifted away, Hawke fell to his knees and heaved against his empty stomach. The wisp of magic still clung to his skin and felt like a thick coat of dust unsettling him, but the intensity of it had lessened due to his emptying mana pool. Hawke collapsed, his head on the cold ground feeling delightful and the lower pressure a relief. Maker, he needed to find magebane and soon.

He saw Carver kneel down and place a hand on his head, Carver's face the same disapproving look Father used. Off in the distance he could hear the muffled voices of Aveline and the guardsmen far off, and the soft worry of Mother nearby. The slight comfort Carver provided with his touch tempted Hawke into a well-needed sleep, the older Hawke drifting into the Fade to once again to face his demons.

* * *

There was so much in the Fade he didn't wish to know. He wanted to dream and not worry about if a certain demon was trying to lure him with promises of love and power. This particular dream, or nightmare depending on perspective, he didn't need to worry about, it was a mere memory of him coming into his magic.

He had been a very happy and charismatic child, taking on a bit of his father's wit even at a young age. None of that mattered when he found out he had magic, nothing could stop the fear he felt. Father had been out in the fields tending to the harvest, Mother was cooking dinner, Bethany played with her doll, and Carver was chasing a cat who'd snuck into the house. Hawke had gone to the Chantry that morning and borrowed books on ships and locksmithing, he was currently tucked under a tree reading the locksmith book. It had been a childhood dream of Hawke's to become a sea rogue, a pirate, and he studied all the inner workings of being a pirate, like locks and sails, to prepare himself for that life. Eventually Hawke came to a passage about frozen locks, the cold making the lock brittle enough to break with a good hit. Like all the other times Hawke read about a new method on breaking into a lock, he picked up the rusted, old lock his father had given him to learn with and turned it over in his hands. He had taken it apart once and therefore could picture the gut of the lock easily, his mind creating an image of the ice spreading in through the key hole and screws. The ice would pour over the latch and crack the spring, then lock the deadbolt in place allowing a tap to shatter the entire inner mechanism. The only thing Hawke could not figure out was how to freeze a lock, not unless he left it in cold weather. Hawke jumped when he turned the lock over again and it broke apart, spreading frozen, cracked bolts over his trousers. Slowly it dawned on Hawke that he had frozen the inside of the lock, without any outside help. For a long time Hawke could only stare at his hands, hands that were that of a mage. His first instinct was to run crying to his Father, Father was a mage and he would know what to do; but Hawke also remembered how hard Mother and Father had to try to hide Father's magic, Father was always uncomfortable when Templars from the Chantry walked by and he worried that Hawke spent too much time at the Chantry. Then he remembered the conversation he heard between Mother and Father one night when he could not sleep. Father had been troubled that Hawke was finally old enough to begin showing signs of a mage, he had hoped that Hawke would not show signs and would turn out to be as normal as Mother. Mother had called it a relief that Hawke seemed to not be a mage and that her eldest son would live a long, trouble-free life.

Hawke wanting to be the best son he could, decided hiding his magic even from his family was the best thing he could do for them. He remembered the poison from a book of recipes he had borrowed once and decided that magebane would work to conceal his magic. With a quick yell to his father and a hasty promise he would be back before dinner to Mother, Hawke hurried to return his books to the Chantry and trade them for the poison making. The corrupter and concentrator agent had been easy to procure, Old Barlin had them handy to make poison traps to keep pests out of his fields (not that he knew how to make them). The lyrium dust was harder, he used his charm to ask the Chantry Sisters he could help inventory the lyrium for the Templars and using his amateur rogue skills he swapped three bags of lyrium dust out for distilling agent and modified the inventory list to reflect the change. By the time he had gathered together the components it had been time to return home for dinner and he hid apprehension as Father asked what he did today at the table. After dinner he watched Beth and Carver, playing with them as Mother cleaned and readied things for bed, and Father finished up on the farm, sending the farmhands home for the night. It was not until the children were tucked in their beds and asleep that Hawke had time to put his plan in motion. Mother and Father were still up, drinking tea and talking like they usually did before bed. Hawke carefully slipped out of the bed he shared with Carver and opened the window in their room, he crawled out of the room and into the night to his reading tree. When he got there he pulled the recipe book and the ingredients from a hole in the tree, he set to with only the moonlight to see by.

Finally Hawke had one vial of magebane finished and he coated a dagger he hid in the tree with it, pulling the iron against his skin. It stung horribly, he could hear sizzling as the poison reacted with his magic and forced him into a whimpering ball of agony. After a bit Hawke unfurled and thought about the recipe and if there was a way to lessen the pain. It took half the night and quite a few vials before Hawke finally found a balance of the poison that caused an irritating throbbing and not utter pain, the key was to use more corrupter agent and less concentrator agent. It was the concentrator agent that strengthened the magic for a moment and in turn causing the poison to flare as the magic fought against it, by using less concentrator the magic was not tricked into increasing and rejecting the poison. Hawke spent the rest of the night creating more of his magebane mixture and going back and diluting the stronger poisons.

The poison-making became a ritual for Hawke, once every two months he would sneak lyrium dust out of the Chantry, spend a night mixing together magebane and storing it a box beneath the floorboards. At the beginning of a week Hawke would wait till his siblings were fast asleep, sneak out a bottle of bane from under the floor, and use it. It wasn't until Beth showed magic and Father begun teaching her did Hawke question whether or not he should tell his family about his own gift, but by then he figured it too late.. Hawke continued on by himself, learning small things from books and from watching Father and Beth practice. He never used it though, magic felt uncomfortable and unless he went awhile without his poison his magic was pretty much sealed. It wasn't until the Chantry had a lyrium shortage and Hawke was unable to make magebane that he felt the effects of coming off the poison.

Everything about him felt wrong, his body felt foreign and disgusting. He could actually feel the magic pouring through his veins and it made him sick several times over. Mother thought it was a sickness or at worst the plague, but Father saw it for what it was. Withdrawal from lyrium, but not the same withdrawal Templar experienced. Hawke did not drink the stuff and not in large quantities, rather it was more magic withdrawal than lyrium. Father had spent days, looking over him instead of the farm. That job fell to Bethany, Carver, and Mother.

Father had sat in the same spot, staring at a window and glancing over with regret and guilt just to check on him. The only time Father moved was to get him food, water, a wet rag for his fever, or a bucket for his stomach. It had been horrible watching Father take blame for something he had no control over.

Hawke had stopped talking too, wanting to just curl up and disappear so his family could return to the happy, carefree household they had been. He constantly faded in and out of consciousness, uncertain what was real. Had Father really been polishing the dagger he used, had Mother really cried at his bedside, Bethany wasn't really so angry with him to call him those names was she, could Carver really have a worried look like that for him?

Mother had been angry at first, he could remember that. She had slapped him when he was still able to stand and told him that no child of hers would stoop so low, would go as far as to be ashamed of his lineage. He wasn't ashamed, he even croaked the words out and Mother had broke into tears. He was scared and did not want to be a bother and magic felt unnatural to him and he did not like the feel of it, he was never ashamed just uncomfortable and uncertain.

Carver acted exactly as Hawke thought he would, pissed that Hawke had done wrong against the family and yet had remained the favorite, angry that he was the only non-mage child, livid that his brother could have killed himself if he had gotten something wrong. Deep under all the hate was fear and worry, a want to not lose his brother to something as stupid and annoying as magic, because besides all the favoritism and praise Hawke was still his brother.

Bethany had hurt the worst though, she had felt so betrayed. She questioned him on all the times he said she was special and his favorite sibling. He hated mages didn't he, hated being one. It was a curse of the Maker, both of them were blemishes on the world. He stopped her with a simple no, but that couldn't get rid of the hurt. Bethany was never very confident or placid with her own magic and knowing her big, confident, older brother wasn't either didn't help. If he could not stand the burden of magic, could she? Soon all Beth became was sad looks and angry glances.

It wasn't until the bane was completely out of his system and the magic had taken a hold that everyone had gone back to some sense of normalcy. Mother apologized, smiled, and went on taking care of the home. Carver grumbled about stupidity now and then, but went back to trying to best his brother with swords. Bethany's disdainful looks faded to smiles and soft hugs, but he could see her reservations when Father trained them together. Father had changed the most, he kept his eye on Hawke more often. Father somehow managed to get a steady delivery of lyrium dust to the farm and began helping Hawke make his bane, setting the doses and days it was to be taken, and storing some in case of another shortage. Hawke was surprised that Father let him continue with his regiment, Father explained that he understood how frightening it could be and that he wouldn't force him into something he was not ready for, leading into a joke about woman and marriage being next on the list. Still Father had set rules, Hawke had to follow the doses exactly or skip out on the dose completely. Father also had the right to stop him from taking a dose, allowing his magic to come back long enough to teach him something he was teaching Beth and thought was important Hawke know too. Despite the strain it had put on the family, it had also strengthened the bonds they had and Hawke wished that he could go back to that. Back to the days when Mother did not force a smile, when Carver wasn't always accusing and a tit, and back when Beth and Father were still alive.


End file.
